How to Tame a Horseman
by HalcyonNight
Summary: In uniting the Hallows, Harry became more than just the Master of Death - he became Master of the Four Horsemen. In which Harry becomes best friends with God, lives with the Four Horsemen, and tries his best to retain whatever shred of sanity he has left. *Slash* (Pairing Undecided) *In need of Beta* *AU*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**** I neither own Harry Potter or Supernatural. **

**Warnings:**** AU, and may at a later date have Slash, if I decide to continue it. And I think I need a Beta, because I am certain there are errors here and there.**

**Misc:**** War is Female in this, and I refer to Pestilence as both, well, Pestilence and Conquest - as they are one in the same. Also, important A/N at the bottom.**

**Any questions, feel free to ask - I'll try my best to answer them. **

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><p>Everyone dies in the end.<p>

It's one of those facts of life - the sky is blue, the grass is green and, no matter how hard you try to fight it, you will die in the end. Some people live for an _oh-so-long time, _living their life out to the fullest before passing away with little more than a content smile on their face and surrounded by their loved ones. Some people barely live at all, their life burning out like a candle in a snowstorm, long before their time.

Harry, for all that he had and hadn't lived, was well acquainted with Death. He had died before, that much he was certain of, and life afterwards had never really been _normal_, for what it was worth. He had seen his mother die, had heard his father perish, and he understood what Death truly was when the kind old snake in the garden was cleaved in two by his Uncle.

With Death, came his brother Famine.

As a child, he had hungered. Always hungry, sat all alone in his cupboard (_but at least it was his_, that voice murmured in the back of his mind, and the Dursley's could _never_ take that away from him), he had wondered and wished and prayed for something to satiate that unquenchable desire that always lingered in the bottom of his stomach, but relief never came. Even at Hogwarts, that craving never truly vanished, and like his older brother Death he too left his mark on one young Harry Potter.

And so, as he grew up, he knew Famine.

Curious about her brothers, their sister War touched Harry's life.

Swift, yet deceptively tender, War draped her bloody wings around Harry, the fighting and the hate and the fear residing in her feathers soon becoming the only constant in his young life. Magic, for all that he loathed and loved it, soon became the one thing that he trusted most – his blade against the tides of War. And this blade he sharpened, with the aid of Dumbledore, transfiguration and charms and hexes and curses whetstones, until finally it was enough to set him free.

Under siege,_ beleaguered_ and _tired_ and _worn_, Harry Potter knew War. But War had changed him, scarred him; to the point where he was more soldier than child and more murderer than saint.

Conquest (_or was it Pestilence) _soon took her place, watching with a glimmer of something in his eyes as the boy-who-lived became the man-who-survived, and with a smile that was almost _proud _he watched as Death reaped his soul.

Harry had always been acutely aware of something watching him, but he only truly became aware when he learnt of the Four Horseman. So, alone and tired yet _oh-so achingly _close to Victory, they appeared to him, on that train station, when he needed them most.

For they knew Harry Potter just as well as he knew them, saw him for what he was, and they wanted him.

They always would look after their Master.

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><p>"…Jesus, what hit me?" Harry groaned, cradling his aching head.<p>

"Voldemort."

Harry blinked, once, twice, before scrambling to his feet, staring at the owner of the voice in abject confusion. The man was tall, and very, very old – he reminded him of a Pureblood Aristocrat, all high cheekbones and prim clothes and overwhelming condescension. Last thing he remembered was being blasted in the face with the killing curse, _willingly, _so Harry was quite surprised to find himself in the presence of someone else and still very much alive and kicking.

He even kicked out a little bit to test it.

"Oh, sorry honey, but you are very much dead." This time the old, gaunt man hadn't opened his mouth – instead, the sound was coming _directly behind him. _

Twirling on the ball of his foot, Harry came face to face with what was without question the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Long, flowing auburn hair, ruby red lips and decked out in a sinful red dress, her hazel eyes glittered in glee as she watched him scour her form. She smirked, revealing a pearly canine, before nodding to the old man.

"War, I thought we decided we were going to go in _order?_" Harry just looked at the small man who appeared next to the beauty (_War, her name was War) _with unhidden amusement. Something told him that the man didn't need the wheelchair he rode around in, but he quickly dismissed him, uncomfortable with the memories of hunger that just looking at him dug up, turning his attention back to the lady.

"Ladies first." Was her nonchalant response. Harry didn't know if he should be proud or scared with the hungry look she was giving him.

"Shut up kiddies, you're both pretty." Absentmindedly wondering if there were any more people arriving, the boy-who-lived turned back to face the old man, who was now with another man.

"Not that this isn't fun and all," Harry said, sarcasm oozing from his words, "but who, exactly, are you?"

"What." The newcomer said, grinning. "What we are."

"Fine then, what are you?" He had never been patient, and it seemed like that particular trait remained in death.

"We're the Four Horsemen." Harry just nodded, unsure of whether or not he should know these people. They apparently were expecting more of a reaction, if the slightly crest-fallen look on their faces was anything to go by, so to avoid hurting their feelings he clapped for them.

"I'm Pestilence, or Conquest." The scary looking male said from Death's side, waving. "The old man next to my elder sister is Famine, and the pretty lady is called War."

Harry just continued clapping.

"I think you broke him, Death." War made her way past the savior, her auburn tresses trailing behind her as she made to stand next to her brother.

Death just sighed. "I didn't break anything. That dubious honour falls on your lap, _sister_." It was said so venomously that War flinched. "After all, if you hadn't been so exuberant with the boy then he would have come out the war mentally secure."

"So we now have a potentially insane, and incredibly sarcastic master?" Famine wheeled over to his family, watching the Potter scion in fascination.

Harry Potter just clapped harder, as if that would make the anthropomorphic personifications of evil disappear.

"Looks that way. All I did was kill the boy. War, it was you that broke him." The brothers three stared at their sister accusingly.

"Fine, I'll fix him." She sauntered up to the war veteran, and, with barely veiled amusement slapped the boy across the face. "That usually works on humans. Much better than counselling, I say."

At the very least, Harry stopped clapping, his hand reaching up to gingerly rub where he had been struck.

"So…you're the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse?" Harry asked, the slap dredging up faint memories of one of the few times he had been in church, when the Dursley's had asked the vicar to exorcise the magic from within.

"Indeed." Death answered, bored. "And you are our master."

"Eh?" Whatever Harry was expecting, that certainly wasn't it. "I think you have the wrong guy. Wouldn't that usually be Satan?"

"Sparkles is only our master when he binds us, _forcefully_. You, Greenie, are our master because we _choose_ you." Pestilence was still grinning at him with that scary grin of his. "Except Death. You bound him when you collected his three little treasures."

"Wait…" The newly minted Master of Death trailed of, awareness looming over his head like the Sword of Damocles, "Beedle the Bard wasn't a massive fraud when he wrote up that fairytale?"

"The Deathly Hallows was real, so why wouldn't the consequences be real as well?" Death replied, far from amused. "They weren't supposed to be gathered, but, you managed it. And loathe as I am to admit it I would rather it be you than Lucifer."

"We're following out of familial obligation." The only woman elaborated, and for the first time Harry noticed the ruby red wings folded on her back.

And, as he looked around, he could see the other Horsemen's wings; Pestilence's viridian, Famine's stygian and Death's molten-silver. Without Harry actually being everywhere, his hand reached out, away from his stinging cheeks, and he hesitantly stroked Death's wings.

"Aww, isn't that so cute?" War teased, ruffling her eldest brother's hair.

As if burned, Harry retracted his hand, stepping backwards in horror as he stared at the appendage.

"If you're done?" Death questioned, ignoring the apologies that were spewing from his Master's lips. Seeing that they weren't ending anytime soon, he forged on. "Now that you are _our _master now, you have some responsibilities to take care of."

"In most cases, it'll be a bit like a game," Harry snorted at Pestilence, "hey, don't look at me like that, seriously."

"I just find it hard to believe that being the Master of the Horsemen will be a game. I'm still not even sure if I _want _to be your master." He forcefully poked the man on the chest, ignoring how much he wanted a cheeseburger at that very moment.

"It's either you, or Sparkles, and I'd much rather it be you." War leaned forward, hands resting on his chest.

"If you don't, I'll give you Killamydia." Harry mouthed the word to himself, confused, whilst Pestilence was laughing hysterically to himself, as if he told the funniest joke in the universe. "Chlamydia. God, does no-one appreciate humour anymore?"

"No." Death said. "You just aren't funny."

"Fine. I get it." Harry fell on his back, staring at the great big _nothing _above him, wondering if it was even worth trying to argue with the Horsemen. "So, why bother telling me now? Isn't it a bit late, now that I'm dead?"

Death just gave him a bored look, and a quirked eyebrow.

"Ahh. Right. Master of Death and all." Harry chuckled humorlessly. "So what do I need to do to return to the land of the living?"

"No-thing," Famine sing-songed, "because you aren't going back to that world."

For the second time this evening – not that Harry was sure it was even evening – he proved his eloquence.

"Eh?"

"…You really don't belong there." War stage-whispered, "After all, that's a god-less universe, and going back there would make the natural balance explode."

"But what about Hermione, Ron, Ginny? What about my friends, my family? What about Voldemort?" Eyes glinting dangerously, he hissed the words at his subjects, who stared back unamused.

"Hermione and Ron are married now – three children, one's named after you – Ginny eloped with Dean Thomas and went to Barbados, and Voldemort died the second you did." Death rattled off, grinning vindictively whilst reporting news of Voldemort's death. "I snagged his soul the minute that Horcrux split from you."

"Ahh. So they get a happy ending then?" Harry mulled it over. "So what do I need to do?"

"Take on some of my duties. Send the souls of the deceased to their final resting place, ensure that people don't die before their time," at this, Death glared at his family, as if it was their fault (though, as Harry thought about it, it was actually there fault), "and just maintain the balance."

"Alongside that, you've just got to get in our way." War smiled devilishly. "Stop my wars, heal the sickness spread by Pestilence, and feed those racked by Famine."

"Like I said, it'll be a _game_." Pestilence echoed.

"You don't want us running rampant, do you? Think of all the people we'll end up _killing_ if you don't accept?" Famine cackled.

Death offered his hand pointedly.

Mentally cursing his hero-complex, he nervously eyed the offered hand, and reached out and grasped it.

Then his world fell apart, light blinding, dark consuming, world shaking.

All he knew was _pain._

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><p>Groaning in pain, he stumbled to his feet, trying his best to gauge where exactly he was.<p>

His bare feet _click-clacked _on the wooden floor, the sound reaching high up into the rafters, light streaming in from the beautiful glass windows, images of angels engraved like mosaics. Orderly pews lined up horizontally, symmetrical along both sides, and it dawned on him that he was in a _church._

Harry took a moment to appreciate the irony in that statement. Then he took a moment to wonder how the Horsemen of the Apocalypse were able to walk into a church.

Then he shrugged it off. He'll think about it after a good, long, hard sleep.

"Hello?" Shocked that someone managed to sneak up on him, he turned around, facing a decidedly unkempt looking man in a tracksuit and grey hoodie.

"Hello." Harry waved cheerfully. Then, he collapsed, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Chuck, lost, just watched as the strange teen slept on the floor of the church, wondering what to do with him.

Harry just slept on, peaceful, and wholly unaware of the four rings he now owned.

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><p><strong>Fin~<strong>

**Yeah, I'm honestly not sure if I should consider continuing this, or leaving it as a one-shot. I like it, a lot, and I'll probs continue it if a lot of people want me to. Anyway, any questions just feel free to ask - in either a PM or a review, and I'll answer them asap. If I continue, chapters will usually be around 3000+ words, and will have slash (though pairing is undecided atm - maybe Harry/Dean, Harry/Sam, or some variation like that (though Harry/Fem!War is a pairing that sounds hilarious to me).**

**I hope you enjoyed :D.**

**_Till next time,_**

**Signed, HalcyonNight.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**** I neither own Harry Potter or Supernatural.**

**Warnings:**** AU, and may at a later date have I think I need a Beta, because I am certain there are errors here and there.**

**Misc:**** War is Female in this, and I refer to Pestilence as both, well, Pestilence and Conquest - as they are one in the same. Plus, questionable theory about Magic that has some serious implications. Also, important A/N at the bottom.**

**Also. I love you guys. The response to this is amazing, and I never thought so many people would like this. So thank you everyone for Following, Favoriting and Reviewing - I really, really appreciate it :D**

**Any questions, feel free to ask - I'll try my best to answer them.**

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><p>When Harry Potter was young, so many moons ago, he knew Love.<p>

Long before the revival of Voldemort. Long before he stepped into the Wizarding World. Even, surprisingly, before the Horsemen's touch irrevocably changed his life forever. He had two parents; a beautiful young woman named Lily, and a handsome young man called James. He had two wonderful uncles: the super-smart werewolf Moony, and the lovable and kind Sirius. He had a wonderful little voice that giggled in the back of his mind, embraced him with warmth, and stopped the hunger from reaching him.

Little Harry had loved _Love_. It was warm, and fuzzy, and made him smile.

But then, Voldemort came, and with him came Death. His love wilted, petals falling and twirling and decaying as they hit the ground, torn off petal by petal by fear and hunger and sorrow.

And then Harry forgot Love.

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><p>After everything is said and done, all that remains is to pick up the pieces.<p>

Luckily for Harry, he was good at picking up the pieces, and fitting them together again.

The newly crowned "Master of the Horsemen" opened bleary eyes, eyes that adjusted to the darkness of the room he found himself in, shocked that, for once, he hadn't woke up to pain. The ceiling, a broad expanse of vanilla wallpaper, was a comforting sight – it reminded him of home. Harry found himself in a warm bed, the striped duvet heavy (_but in a pleasant way, _his mind tacked on, _like a hug) _against his body. He couldn't help but wonder where he was, his last memory being that of green light.

Harry laughed, a short, mirthless thing, but a laugh all the same. It always was green light, wasn't it? His very first memory was that green-green light, and look how _pleasant _that was. His mother dead, splayed across the ground like a string-less marionette.

Harry wondered if he was better off not remembering what happened.

But he wasn't so lucky, and slowly, like a leaking faucet, the memories came trickling in, one by one by _bloody _one. He remembered waking up in…in _that _place (_Purgatory, _his mind whispered, dragging the name up from some hidden vat of knowledge, sounding awfully like Hermione as it did so), surrounded by the Four Horsemen. He remembered meeting War, meeting Famine, meeting Pestilence, meeting _Death, _and he remembered waking up in a church.

He remembered being told that he could never see his friends again.

Harry remembered being made the Master of the Horsemen.

Harry knew that there was_ something_ wrong.

So he'd pick up the pieces, just like he'd always done, and try to fit them back together again. He wouldn't dwell on it any longer – he'd forget the pain, tack on a smile, and go about his new life – because that is what a Potter does. After all, Harry was now the Master of the Horsemen, and he would take his duty seriously; he would do it for them, the family he left behind.

What's eternity, anyway?

He reached out blindly, fumbling in the dark, before his lithe hands wrapped around a cord. Following the wire upwards, his hand met resistance in the form of a switch, and as he flicked it the world exploded into brightness.

He hissed, squinting, as his eyes tried to get used to the light. The light was too bright, and it took a while for the male to adjust to the sudden change, but when he did, the first thing he saw was four rings – the metals glinting in the fluorescent light of the lamp.

The first ring he came across on his ring finger was the plainest – a simple golden band. It rested heavily on his skin, heavy, and in certain lights the gold shone umber. The more he looked at it, the more he remembered the fear, the desperation, the _hate _that coursed through him during the war, and Harry assumed that this was the ring of War.

He quickly moved on. The last thing he needed right now was to be reminded of everything that he left behind.

The second ring was made out of the purest silver, a glimmering black stone set in its center. His mind was sent back to his childhood, the onyx forcefully dragging out memories of lonely days and a deep-set hunger that tore and tore and _tore_ at his soul. It sent him back to days were he craved friendship, craved for acceptance, craved for _food._

The obsidian stone twinkled merrily as Harry's hand moved passed it, a reminder of the hunger Famine's touch left.

The third ring was made out of the same material, the only difference being the milky-green stone set in place of the onyx on Famine's ring. The Master of the Horsemen sneezed, the sound shattering the silence of the night, and with a frown he realized that this was Pestilence's ring.

Harry purposefully ignored the itch skipping past Conquest-Pestilence's ring caused, moving onto the ring he felt most comfortable with.

Death's ring, the Resurrection Stone, had changed drastically. It now looked similar to his brother's, a simple silver band with a pale stone, and the boy-who-lived smiled fondly at the reminder of his victory. The ring had gave him the resolve to do what he must, and for that he'll be eternally grateful of it.

He was half tempted to call on the spirits of his family, see his mother and father once more, but thought against it. They shouldn't be disturbed from their eternal rest – it wouldn't be right.

He ignored the pleased shuddering of his Magic at that admission, ignored its whispers of _the natural order, _and closed his eyes.

The wizard stood, lost and confused and so very _worn_. Emerald eyes, _his mother's eyes, _scanned the room, sight taking in the _too sterile, _too empty environment. This room wasn't special – vanilla wallpaper, mottled-brown carpet, cheap furniture. It was too utilitarian; as if the owner just hadn't cared about the aesthetics, and only had this room purely because it came with the house.

It was organized in such a way that Harry wondered if the owner even _wanted _anyone to visit. Like he expected to remain alone.

"Twinkle, twinkle little star…" The wizard started, voice hoarse from disuse. The moon hung up high in the sky, surrounded by a bed of glittering stars, and the defeater of Voldemort could not look away.

"Aren't you a bit old to be singing nursery rhymes?" To his credit, Harry didn't flinch. He just stood there, staring outside over the clean-cropped garden, with its cut-close green-grass and its pretty flowers, thinking of everything and nothing. Whomever owned this house took care of it; that was for sure.

"War." The auburn-haired beauty sighed in response, pouting.

"What, no comeback? Honey, what happened to all that fabulous sass you had before?" War sulked, before standing beside her chosen master.

"I'm just…thinking." To be honest, the half-blood didn't know why he was trying to placate the personification of war, but it felt like the right thing to do.

"About?" She pressed on. "Kid, I'm _War, _not Mystic Meg. You humans tend to need to go on and on about your problems, otherwise you just sought of…_pop_. So what's wrong, dear-old _master-o'-mine_, and let little old War soothe those aches and pains of yours."

Harry blinked.

"…Are you hitting on me?" Harry stared, stared _hard and long, _wondering if it was impossible for abstract concepts to be insane.

"No I bloody well am _not _hitting on you! I'm trying to be _nice._" War ground out, fists clenched. "You're not my type anyway."

"You have a type?"

"Yes. I do. And you know what, we _all _do. I happen to know for certain that you're _Pestilence's _type."

Harry noticeably paled. "You mean…"

"Yep." Her smile wasn't pleasant. "Mine, if you want to know, is tall, dark and handsome. I love a god _war_lord – the violent the better. Attila the Hun, now he was a cutie…"

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't just tell me that," he had a feeling that playing ignorant would be the only way he'd save his sanity.

"Bah, you'll learn it eventually – after all, we're going to get _real _close over the years." She stroked his arm, slowly, _seductively. _"We all are."

Harry just blushed, embarrassed, wanting more than anything to get away. The only reason he hadn't jumped back was because he didn't want to know what War would do to him.

"Sooner or later we'll know _everything _about each-other; what our favorite foods are, what we love to do for fun – I, personally, like watching families tear themselves apart – and, at some point, it'll be like we are the_ same person," _War let go, stepping away as she did so, "and hey, why haven't you shown us your wings yet? You've seen ours."

"I have wings?" Harry asked, craning his neck around to try and see them. "I don't see them."

War groaned, labored. "You need to manifest them, you idiot. Though, warning for you, if you get them out you probably won't be able to put it away."

"What do you mean?" The boy-who-lived almost didn't catch her warning, too excited at the idea of having wings (_of-flying-freedom-escape_).

"How to explain it…" Perfectly manicured nails were lifted to crimson-painted lips, their owner in deep thought, "Ah! Well, it's kind of like trying to fit something in that is clearly far too big; like trying to fit a whale into a bus. It'll be ugly, gory, and frankly _unpleasant, _so maybe…actually, go ahead."

"Is that why yours are always out?"

"We like to let it all…_hang out. _If you get what I'm saying."

"…You're disgusting."

"Baby, I'm War. Whoever said I was clean was a liar…" A thought hit her then. "How very strange…"

"What is?" Harry took a seat opposite, the wood creaking underneath him as he sat down.

"You've not felt anything off have you? A strange hunger, the urge to kill, not even the sniffles?" She queried, staring intently into his emerald eyes.

"No…I sneezed before, but that's it?" The Horsemen stared at the boy curiously, a strange glint in her hazel eyes.

"I'm honestly impressed. No-one, in a very long time, has been comfortable in my presence. Apparently I make people too angry." She laughed.

Harry couldn't help but ponder that thought. Just who else had she revealed herself too?

"Oh?" Curious, Harry asked her who the last person to feel comfortable in her presence was. "They must have been someone special."

"The so-called 'Lamb of God', Jesus Christ. So yeah, he was definitely 'someone special', as you so eloquently worded it." Harry spluttered, coughing heavily whilst War just smirked that evil little smirk of hers. "Granted, he also had a hand in sealing us in the Pit, so he isn't exactly our favorite person right now."

"The Pit?"

"Capital P and everything. Though it didn't really work too well," War continued, vindictive glee in her eyes.

"If you were trapped in the Pit, how did you escape?" Harry leaned back in his chair, the wood straining under his weight, pensive. "I mean, if you escaped, couldn't other, more meaner things get out?"

"Meaner, honey," she corrected, "and no, they couldn't. We escaped because of dear old brother Death, who…_enhanced _particular elements of your world."

"Enhanced? In what way?" He had a feeling he was in for a long explanation, so the young man got comfortable.

"Well, I can't speak for my brothers, but I can tell you how _I _escaped," she stretched her wings out, the scarlet appendages almost bridging the gap between each wall. "170 AD, the 'Marcomannic Wars'. The amount of energy released from all those that died funneled into my cage, shattering it to pieces. Pestilence was running around long before me I think, back when he was referred to as Conquest. Death was never in the cage to begin with, slipping through the bars as if they were nothing."

"Ahh." That made sense. "But you said Death effected my world…how?"

"With magic," the red-head that looked eerily like his mother would have continued, but paused, distracted by the grey mist that oozed out of the Resurrection Stone, splattering wetly on the ground. "Death can explain it better. And wouldn't you know it, here comes my dear old older brother, my very own knight in shining armour. "

The substance melted together, forming the familiar features of his Pale Rider.

"…Can all of you do that?" If they could, then the Potter Scion feared for his privacy. What if they decided to show up whilst he was in the shower?

"Yes." Death answered, blunt. "Now am I going to explain, or can I go back to reaping?"

"Y-yea."

Harry may be a Gryffindor, but he wasn't suicidal. He didn't want to get on the bad side of _Death._

"Good."

"You've been special since birth, as a result of what you are." Death clicked his fingers, a ball of flickering light vibrating over his palm. "This _magic _you _wizards _wave around is essentially watered down Grace – the life blood of angels."

War tittered from her place next to him, crazed grin splitting her beautiful face with madness. "There was a war in Heaven, so many creatures died whilst caught in the crossfire. It was _beautiful._"

"I took the Grace of fallen angels, diluted it with my own power, and forced it onto your world," the ball of light in his hand died out, and was soon replaced by a slice of pizza, "after all, Avada Kedavra just replicates what my reapers can do – _Death _with a touch and all that."

Harry reeled as if struck, gears whirring, as his mind tried to keep up with the information being forced onto him.

"_Magic _doesn't exist," Death said clinically, emotionlessly. "All you have been using is _Grace, _and you, in particular, have access to a lot more Grace then any human has any right to having."

He felt like he was going to be sick. His Magic – or, rather, his _Grace –_ bubbled and churned inside his bloodstream, revolting. It had never occurred to Harry to think about _where _his magic came from; he had always thought that some people were just born with it, like how he had inherited his father's black hair and his mother's eyes. The fact that it was _stolen _from _angels_ disgusted him.

Maybe the Dursley's were right when they said he was unnatural.

Maybe they were right when they said he was a _monster, _when they called him _devil-spawn_.

Harry realized that he was a terrible person.

"If my dearest brother has told me correctly, when God forced your soul back into that shell of yours, you took back with you a large portion of the gathered Grace." War cooed in his ear. "How does it feel? I bet it must feel _orgasmic. _All that angelic mojo, all locked up safe and sound in the pretty little body of yours. Just think of all the chaos you could cause if you let it go."

"I bet your wings would look gorgeous, darling."

The _wizard _(_no, _his mind growled, _thief-thief-thief) _kept quiet, mind racing. His _Magic _wasn't _his. _It belonged to some _innocent _angel and he had stolen-_stolen-__**stolen **_it.

He was a freak.

"You feel guilty, don't you? Well, don't be." Death _comforted. _"It was either your world got access to magic, or this one imploded with the amount of Grace that would be left floating around."

"If it helps, Death could tell you whose angel's Grace you have bubbling up inside of you." The red-head tossed the suited man a glare, and after seeing the resigned look in the old man's eyes she summoned herself a glass of red wine in celebration of her elder brother's defeat.

"Thanks." Harry replied, bitter.

"Galgaliel's." The personification of Death said, after a moment of thought, his hazel eyes staring intently into Harry's own

"Angel of Vibration?" War asked, and after getting confirmation smirked. "I feel sorry for all the poor dildos out there, losing their angel."

"And Jophiel's." At that, War choked on her wine.

"The _Archangel_!" She crowed. "_Brilliant!"_

In response, the glass in her hand shattered, the shards exploding outwards in all directions. The world trembled, furniture vibrating, and the room descended into darkness as glass rained down from the ceiling, the light bulb erupting in a shower of sparks. Harry glowed, _thrummed, _and War found herself plastered to the wall, pushed relentlessly by an invisible force.

For a brief second, Harry _heard _a voice, felt a strong sense of pride as the _evil _was crushed to the wall.

"Should have known." Death sighed. "You never did take revelations well, did you?"

All he got for an answer was a chair to the face.

"Rude." Death moved towards the glow, untouched by all, standing in front of him kike his sister War had done.

And slapped him. _Hard._

"Ow…" Harry whimpered, finally in control.

The room fell silent, the Horsemen waited patiently, only watching as Harry caught his breath.

"That was the most attractive thing I think you've ever done. But do it again, and I'll crush you." War panted, sliding down the wall she had been pinned against moments before. "You're strong. And I think you need to learn control."

"I…I'm a monster." War opened her mouth to say something, only to be quelled by Death's glare.

"If it makes you feel any better, blame God. That's what human's do, after all. Volcano erupts, blame God. World War 3 breaks out, blame God. Late to work, blame God. At this point, it's become your slogan." She buffed her nails. "It's not as if you have free will or anything."

"War," Death warned, "Enough."

"Ugh," the Ruby Horsemen huffed, "I'm going back to sleep. You all irritate me."

With that said, her figure disappeared; hair, body, eyes and all, melting into red goo. It bubbled and hissed, steam rising from the substance, before it lashed out at Harry. He knelt, accepting of whatever it would do to him, but it instead latched onto the golden ring on his finger.

And like that, she was gone – returned to the ring.

"She isn't at full yet." Death observed. "No matter. Also, we have a visitor."

"What do you…?" Harry trailed off, seeing nothing.

"Curious. You cannot sense Him then?" The human shook his head in response. "Chuck, get out from under the bed." The Grim Reaper didn't sound surprised, as if finding people under the bed was a common occurrence for him.

"H-How do you know who I…" The voice, coming from under the bed, was meek and pitiful.

Harry gaped.

"How long have you," suddenly, Harry stopped, "actually, no. Don't reply to that. I really don't want to know."

Oblivious though he may to some things, it didn't stop him from realizing that this was one of those things that he was better off not knowing about. It slotted neatly between the questions "_Why was Hermione so angry on a particular day of the month?" _and "_How on Earth was Petunia so thin and Vernon so fat?"_, and he really wasn't prepared for the knowledge of what the man was doing under his bed.

"He's been here for the last few minutes. God is a sneaky bastard." Harry stilled, frame rigid.

"W-what are you on about…?" A hand accompanied the statement, and soon enough the man had fully dragged himself out from underneath. "I'm not God."

Harry recognized this man; it was the very same man that he had saw in that church.

"At first I wasn't certain it was you," Death admitted, "but I knew the moment you stopped Raphael from peeking into this conversation. There are very few things that are stronger than an Archangel, and you are neither a Horsemen nor his elder siblings."

"Touche." Chuck sighed, before he dropped the clueless act. "I'm God. There. You happy?"

"Not really." Death commented lightly. "I haven't been happy in a long time. Not since you tried to _trap me in Hell._"

"Death, surely you aren't hung up about that still?"

"The only reason why I haven't stabbed you yet is because one day you'll be dead, and I'll enjoy the experience of tearing your soul from that shell of yours."

There was a lull in the conversation, as both men sized each-other up. A lull that was quickly interrupted by Harry clapping.

"…Is he okay?" Chuck asked, concerned, watching the boy-who-lived frantically clap his hands. "Because I don't think he is okay."

"Coping mechanism." Death replied glibly. "After-effects of dying, and then being sent to another universe."

Chuck whistled, impressed. "You really must like him to go against the natural order of things."

"I look after my own." He smiled nastily. "A concept that must be foreign to you."

It was enough to get Harry to stop clapping, the wizard stunned by the pure _devastation _that racked the man's face. Chuck looked like he was about to cry, stunned and hurt by the words.

"I grow bored of you, _God." _Death's features started to melt, just like his sister's did, the grey goop congealing as it splashed onto the carpet. "Goodbye, _God. Master-of-my-Hallows."_

The ooze lashed out, splashing wetly against his Master's skin, before it drew itself into his ring.

So there they both stood, together, God and the Wizard, and Harry could see the other's flaws, the other's imperfections. He could see the cracks, see the things that he was certain no-one was supposed to see, and the boy-who-lived found himself pitying God.

"I'm sorry." Harry tentatively said.

Chuck just shrugged, the pain receding, until it looked like it was never there. "Whatever for?"

"For Death. He shouldn't have said those things." The emerald-eyed youth shook his head, resigned to the actions of his Horseman. He may be his 'master', but he knew that he couldn't really control Death.

No-one could control Death.

"They were true." Chuck, bitter, sat back on the bed. "Maybe that's why they hurt so much?"

Harry, unsure of what to say, sat next to him.

"I don't care that you currently have my children's Grace inside you." The scruffy looking man said. "I did give them to you after all. They would have liked you, I'm sure of it."

"Would they?" Inquired the Master of the Hallows. "What were they like?"

"Galgaliel was beautiful. There was no other way to describe her. Always so helpful…" The father trailed off, emotion getting the better of him. "And Jophiel…he was stunning, like the sun."

"How did they die?"

Chuck opened his mouth to answer, but the words lodged themselves in his throat, edges sharp.

"It's okay, you don't have to answer."

And for Harry, it really was okay.

God, from what he could see, was a bit like an unfinished jigsaw. He was all jumbled pieces and half-hearted attachments and Harry could see that some pieces were missing. Chuck reminded him of broken glass, but Harry didn't think a _Reparo_ would be enough to fix the deity.

But that was okay.

He was good at picking up the pieces after all.

* * *

><p>The next time he woke up, it was to a spotless room, so clean that he almost thought the events of last night were just some bizarre dream.<p>

Stifling a yawn, Harry crawled out of the bedroom, slowly making his way across the landing. It was the first moment of peace he has had for a long time, and he was going to cherish it. There was no more homicidal madmen after him, no more death plots, and he was no longer shackled by that stupid prophecy.

Harry smirked. He could get used to this.

"Watch-a thinkin' bout'." Harry _hissed, _lost his footing, and tumbled – gracefully – down the stairs.

And no, that wasn't a scream. That was just the forceful removal of air from his vocal chords, _honest._

Pestilence just smiled that _goddamn _creepy smile of his, leering down at him from the top of the stairs.

"I _finally _wake up _without _a head-ache, and you have to go and give me one." Harry glared up at the personification of all the little beasties in the world, wishing he had dragged the demented old man down with him. "Thank. You."

"Aww, wuv you too," he cooed, taking the stairs two at a time, "wuv you so much that I would give you the Black Death."

Now, Harry may not be the smartest person on the planet, but something seemed _off _with that declaration of love.

But maybe it was just him.

"Pestilence, baby, I know it's hard for you to stop being a _pest, _but shut up will you," the green eyed youth rolled to his feet, staring in bewilderment at War as she watched T.V. "It's getting to the good part."

"You're an idiot." Death muttered, walking into the room with a cup of coffee.

"And you have a crush on Queen Elizabeth." War retorted, eyes glued to the screen.

"Where's Famine?" Harry tried to defuse the situation before it lead to a fight, Lord knows (_or would that be Chuck knows?_) what would happen if that happened. "I've not seen him in a while."

"Someone called?" The familiar creak of an old wheelchair punctuated Famine's statement, raw meat clutched tight in his hand.

Harry ignored the blood that decorated the Horseman's maw.

"_Famine," _Pestilence cooed, "can you see all the pretty little bacterium on that slab of meat in your hands? There's E-coli, a little bit of Salmonella, and is that…"

In a bid to keep his stomach from forcefully expelling its contents, Harry chucked a hasty _Muffliato _around the two Horsemen, drowning out there disgusting conversation – it was worth the constant buzzing in his ear.

Death nodded in gratitude, whilst War tossed the wizard a grateful smile.

"So, I'm Master of the Horsemen now…?" Harry repeated, once more. "I'm still not sure what that even means."

"You'll get it eventually." Harry felt proud of himself, he only twitched slightly at God's appearance. "It's something that hasn't ever happened before, so not even I really know what goes down. Just reign them in, limit the damage they do."

"I believe in you." God added.

Well. He was Harry Potter. He's tackled murderers, killed off Basilisks, travelled through time. He fought his way past dragons and merpeople and sphinxes. He infiltrated the Department of Mysteries, learned the truth about the prophecy, and destroyed Horcruxes.

He even defeated Voldemort.

So, Horsemen?

_Yeah, _Harry thought, _bring it on._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 2, Fin~<strong>_

**Yes, that was a thing. Any questions about my questionable theories ask them lol. I'll do my best to answer them. Also, I made God super regretful and a not-so-bad father figure, and I portrayed the Horsemen as the not-so-good thingie-ma-bobs that they are. They aren't good people, so I do my best to show that whilst they aren't extremely bad, like Lucy bad, they can get up there.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope to see you again on the next one :D**

**Signed, HalcyonNight.**

**P.S: Chapter 3 involves a lot of Harry doing his job, and a bit more interaction with the Horsemen/Harry/Chuck Dynamic. It may also involve Winchesters, so keep you eyes peeled for that~**


	3. Chapter 3

**IMPORTANT NOTICE:**** Everyone, if I haven't replied to your review from last chapter, PLEASE tell me so I can reply to it. I'm uncertain as to who I've replied to and who I haven't, as it has been a very trying time for my family and we're going through some rough times atm. I'm not sure who I've replied to and who I haven't, so if you make a note to it somewhere (in a review or PM) that would be great.**

**But regardless, I love you guys so much. The response to this is amazing: 397 Favorites/600 Follows/96 Reviews. I can't believe we are doing this well with only two chapters. This chapter is a lot-more light-hearted than I expected, but, it feels more filler like. HOWEVER, it does build upon relationships, Harry starts training and we have potential Winchester build-up (for next chappie lol)**

**Anyway, I really hope you enjoy it :D - and remember, any questions don't be afraid to ask!**

* * *

><p>Just as Harry forgot <em>Love, <em>he learned _Hate._

It burned and coiled around the child's heart, festering deep within his soul, lurking nameless and faceless in the fractured depths of his mind. There it sat, a dark phantasm, twisting and coiling, _oh so tightly_ to the child that they almost became one in the same. It whispered, so _lovingly_ and _tender_, what they _could _do to the Dursley's, what they _would_ do to everyone that had ever wronged them (_kill-torture-hate-hate-hate)_, how he never needed _anyone_ but himself.

Harry hated _Hate. _But accepted it for what it was; a voice, and nothing more.

When Harry found Hedwig (_I-miss-you)_, found Hogwarts (_home-sweet-home)_, found Magic _(light-happiness-family), _Harry stopped hearing that little voice in the back of his head.

Harry had prayed that he never heard _Hate _again.

But Hate can't be silenced forever.

* * *

><p>"So…" Harry started, stopped, and began anew, "What do I need to do, exactly? I mean, I know that I'm supposed to get in your way, but, I don't really know what that even means so any help would be useful so.."<p>

"Shut up." Famine interrupted, voice breathy and strained, reflective of his decrepit state. "Do what you feel you have to do, nothing more, nothing less."

Harry just stared, stared _hard_ and _meaningfully_, confused as to _what on Earth that was even supposed to mean. _There is cryptic, then there is just not making _any _sense at all. He thought he escaped _mysterious _quotes when Dumbledore died, and whilst he loved the old man like a grandfather (he did teach him everything he knows about his _Grace, and Magic,_ or _whatever _it was after all) that didn't mean he had to appreciate the old man's enigmatic ways.

He was a teenager, after all, not some sort of hyper-perceptive, hyper-intelligent…_hyper-riddle-solver-person-thing_.

"It isn't our place to tell you how to do your job, hun." War interjected, pitying the raven-haired boy, somewhat out-of-character for the vicious red-head. "You'll figure it out."

"One week." Death intoned, the words sounding more like a threat than anything else. "You'll know then."

"Yup, one week." Pestilence cooed, echoing his brother's statement.

"Shut up Pest, no-one likes you." War hissed. "I liked you better when you were Conquest; at least then you weren't such a sleaze-ball."

Harry wondered if now was a good time to resume clapping – it did have a good track record after all.

"War. Pestilence." Famine wheezed. "Shut-up before I eat you. Again."

Harry opened his mouth, as if to re-join the conversation, but stopped, stunned – trying, and failing, to compute the logistics of that statement. Discretely, he scanned Famine's slight figure, before turning to look at War and Pestilence; who had both gone significantly pale.

It wasn't worth thinking about. It _really _wasn't worth thinking about.

"I'm leaving," Death announced suddenly, "There's this quaint little pizzeria in Chicago that I've been dying to go to."

"…Did Death just?" It was Chuck who asked this, staring in morbid fascination as the Pale Horsemen's body bubbled and hissed violently, before melting into the floor.

"He made a joke," War scoffed, unimpressed, "that's all. He is so full of himself; I bet he is going to go off, devour as much grease as he can get his fossilised hands on, and giggle at his own jokes."

"Shut-up War." Pestilence stuck his tongue out. "Otherwise he'll kill you again."

"Shut it Sneezy, you look like you belong on the sex offender's register. In fact, wasn't there that one time that you featured on Watchdogs?"

"Hey! That was for Anthrax, not _that - _know what? I'll give you Herpes, _just_ for a _refresher_. Semi-colon. Capital. P."

"Chuck." Harry whispered, nudging God's side. "Let's leave before they notice us."

"O-ok."

With that, Harry and Chuck left the room.

They did, after all, value their sanity.

* * *

><p>Life moved on.<p>

It was surprising to Harry, how smoothly he had transitioned into his new life. It had happened so quickly, _too _quickly, that he hadn't even felt different. The boy-who-lived felt _comfortable _here; like he belonged here, and for all that he loved Hogwarts and called it home it just couldn't compare to the peace that he felt now. His _Magic, _his _Grace, _danced inside his veins, singing of home, and his past soon just became his past and his present was becoming his eternity.

But Harry couldn't ever shake the feeling that something was wrong, that this comfort wasn't so much comfort as it was apathy.

He just didn't know _what_ - _what _was so wrong about this seemingly _natural, _seemingly _perfect _turn of events.

Events that seemed so comfortably natural that it just felt _unnerving_.

His life had quickly fallen into a new routine; wake up, keep an eye on the Horsemen so they didn't do anything too stupid, cook something, and then drift off to bed. There were no disasters, no battles to fight, and it all felt a bit too suburban; the whole "cookie-cutter" life that the Dursley's coveted and he despised.

He was sick of it already.

So he intended to do something about it.

Harry Potter was never one to sit around idly and just let the world pass him by, after all. He was a man of action; always ready and willing to do what needed to be done, whatever that may be. Call him impatient, call him stubborn, but he just couldn't sit around and do nothing.

Hermione always did say that he had a hero complex.

So, on a sunny Tuesday morning, exactly one week from the day the war ended and the youngest Potter found himself in a world so different from his own, he invoked the powers, the _Grace _gifted to him (quashing the guilt that surged within as he did so), and summoned to him his Four Horsemen.

They came, abstract concepts building for themselves bodies of flesh and blood, until Chuck's living-room was graced with their presence.

"Here's Johnny!" Pestilence chortled, the jovial man laughing at his own joke.

He went ignored, as always.

"So," War started, impatient as always. "What is it that dear old _master-o-mine_ requires? And how can this sweet, innocent steed aid you?"

"Mare," Famine interrupted, wheezing the words out. "Steed is male."

"Bah, semantics." War waved his words off. "But still, babes, tell me what's wrong? I want to get back to watching Jerry Springer."

So he told them. Told them all that he had been feeling, all that he had loathed, all that he missed. He told them how _cramped _he was feeling, how off-put he was by just about everything, how none of this seemed _right. _He felt like a bird in a cage, trapped watching the world pass him by, purposeless and purposeful and _meaningless._

They just listened.

"Harry," War began, ruby lips curling into a savage smirk, "you're just pent-up a little. Ready to burst. _Blue-balled,"_

"Anxious." Death interrupted pointedly, glaring at his sister. "And whilst my sister may have put it crassly, she is right."

Harry collapsed onto Chuck's mottled-green couch, groaning as he did so. He knew all of this already – he has felt anxiety before damn it – and all they were doing were regurgitating things he already knew. Hermione, that's who he needed; she always knew what to do.

He missed Hermione.

"You want to do your job, but you are unsure as to how." Chuck said, walking down the stairs with a pen clutched tight in his hands. "Hence your anxiety. T-Though I am uncertain as to why you feel so uncomfortable – that's something not even God knows."

"Are you trying to make a joke," Harry's eyebrow quirked, already used to Chuck's strange ability to pop-up out of nowhere, "because that isn't funny, oh omniscient one."

Chuck faltered, almost missing the bottom step.

"Hey…" War sidled up to God, after he righted himself, a predatory glint in her eyes. "You know like you are all-seeing, all-knowing, and all, well, _everything_?"

"Yes?" It was said without a stutter.

"Can you see when people have sex?" War was honestly curious. "Missionary, Sixty-Nine, Reverse Cowgirl. Oh! I bet you're the _master_ of the… 'Edge of Heaven'."

Chuck blushed, face burning red in embarrassment.

"Why?" Harry moaned. "Why would I expect anything more from you?"

"Quiet, sweetie." She lifted a painted finger to her lips, shushing the boy. "It is a perfectly valid question. You humans are all about the sex – there must be a reason why you are his favorite instead of his pretty little angels - maybe that's why."

"War." Death warned. "Do not forget who you are speaking to. He may not look like it, but he is God, and he can give you true death."

"Fine," the lone sister gave in. "I…_apologize_."

Chuck stammered_ something _out, something that Harry had a very hard time deciphering, before scurrying back up the stairs.

"There was a particularly bad case of Syphilis yesterday," Pestilence said, apropos of nothing. "He shouldn't have lain with dogs."

"Eww." The auburn-haired beauty scowled in disgust, recovering from her brief period of melancholy. "Shut-up Pestilence – I liked you better when you were Conquest."

"Can we get back to the point?" Famine forced out, interfering before his siblings could degenerate into yet another fight. "This is why I never visit anyone."

"Thank you." The aristocratic features of the Pale Horsemen twisted themselves into a grimace. "We gave you one week."

That was a loaded sentence, thousands upon thousands of possibilities encapsulated in that one small statement. Harry had been given a week – a week to figure out what to do, a week to figure out what he wanted to be, a week to prepare himself. It felt like the snitch all over again, where he _pondered _and_ wondered_ and _figured out _everything that he needed to figure out.

"You did." Harry's emerald eyes closed, wondering if he was really about to do what he was about to do.

"And you know what to do?" Famine's wheelchair creaked as he leaned forward, watching Harry with rapt attention.

"I do."

They sat in silence then, just waiting, and even Chuck came back downstairs, blush having long since disappeared. The couch made a sound of protest as the Prophet joined Harry, the small man's presence a small comfort for the Child of Prophecy. His _Grace_ vibrated, oscillating in joy, aware in that strange way that _it_ was that it was about to be set free.

_Go on, _it seemed to whisper, _you can do it._

His control on his _Grace_ deliberately slipped, and his world exploded into light.

Pain tore through his shoulders, pain that was soon drowned out by the feeling of _freedom _that reverberated throughout his being. Black and red showered the room, crimson blending with onyx in a shower as long trapped wings unfurled, feathers glistening like shredded diamonds in the natural light of the sun. Harry stretched, his wings unfurling as he did so, the appendages crossing the breadth of the room.

He let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding, the anxiety melting away like ice in the morning sun, dripping and trickling and _fading _as it was absorbed into the ground.

Feeling a pressure against one wing, he frowned, before using his wing to push the offensive object away.

Chuck was flung off of the couch with a startled yelp.

"Pretty…" Harry didn't know how to feel with the look Pestilence was giving his wings.

"Told you they would be magnificent." War reached out with a hand, giving the feathered appendages a light stroke. "They are the product of an Archangel and a Dominion after all."

"Jophiel…Galgaliel," Harry tried to ignore how broken the man's voice sounded, but found he couldn't. He sounded like a father – a father that realised he would never see his child again. "Your wings would be a combination of theirs, wouldn't they?"

Chuck stood, brushed himself off, scattering the feathers that had stuck to him, before centring himself.

"I'll help you with their…your Grace, okay?" Chuck said, still sounding weak. "I'll teach you to sing, just like they did…_could_."

"And we'll teach you how to _fight!" _War cheered, finally taking her hands away from Harry's wings. "Well, I will. Death just touches things and they die. Famine is a pansy and Pestilence just sneezes in people's general direction and they catch some dirty STI."

"I can fight though." To prove his point, he stretched _their _Grace out, lifting the feathers off the ground with a wordless _Wingardium Leviosa, _transfiguring the ruby red and stygian black feathers into blades. He may not know obscure spells like Hermione, or have the advantage of the Dark Arts, but Dumbledore taught him how to make simplicity _devastating._

"Honey, so you dabble in acupuncture." War mocked. "You need to learn to play with the big boys, if you want to tangle with us. Angels, Demons, all those pretty little monsters in the world - they'll eat you alive."

"As loathe as I am to admit it, she is right." Famine made it a point to avoid the sabres, the former feathers deceptively sharp.

"Sparkles would nibble you right up." Pestilence jumped in, testing just how sharp the weapons hovering in the air were. "Chompy chomp, said the spider to the butterfly."

"So, put those toothpicks away and I'll show you how to_ really _fight." With a twist of his Grace, the needles reverted, feathers floating to the ground quietly. "Good, now hop on I'll give you a ride."

"Shouldn't we…" Harry gestured towards the abundance of feathers, the cheap blue carpet and the dirty green couch and even the television set all inundated with them.

"Go." Chuck spoke up, "I'll…I'll clean this up."

"Chuck…" The Potter scion wanted so desperately to give the man a hug.

"Its fine, I'm okay." He smiled. "I'm okay."

"If you say so…" Harry grinned back, even if he _knew _Chuck wasn't okay. "Well then…"

"Finally, let's go." War crowed. "About time. Ciao, _Father-dearest."_

With that, her hand lashed out, gripping tightly onto Harry's shoulder.

With an undignified squeak – that Harry swore came from War, not him - they were gone, leaving Chuck alone. All alone again. Chuck, after making certain that they were gone; the Horsemen having disappeared the moment Harry left – picked up one of the fallen feathers.

It twinkled in the fluorescent lighting, the onyx feathers refracting the beams of light, a kaleidoscope of colours bursting from its core.

It was the closest he'd get to seeing them again.

Chuck smiled bitterly, before picking up the feathers one at a time.

* * *

><p>Harry panted, muscles aching and screaming out of him as he dodged and danced out of harm's way yet again.<p>

War just laughed, sadistic pleasure blooming in her eyes as her ruby blade left a deep gash on her master's arm, blood catching on the tip of her rapier.

"Come on, aren't you supposed to be a _war _hero?" Her Rapier glinted malevolently, blood beading on the tip, like early morning dew on grass. "Don't be so pathetic – I didn't follow you for years just to kick your ass, even if it is _fun._"

War's blade (a long, sharp, decidedly _dangerous_ slab of metal) was the only weapon that she would deign to use, and it _stung. _It was a curious weapon, the head shaped like an arrow – for maximum penetration, she had said – and Harry was slowly beginning to loathe the thing. The pommel was lifted once more, Harry's emerald eyes following the length of steel to the ruby velvet that was gripped so tight in her hands, the threat clear as day.

He couldn't get up anyway.

"You're so pathetic." She wielded her artifact like it wasn't an implement of murder, twirling a strand of her hair around the length of the blade.

Harry stumbled to his feet, panting. "How long…have we been doing this…anyway?"

"You know what?" She cocked her head to one side, thoughtful. "I honestly have no idea. But, seeing as you're standing, let's play ball."

Harry groaned, before arming himself once more.

This will be _fun _indeed_._

* * *

><p>"Harry, you need to focus." Chuck, stern but not severe, admonished. "Enochian…isn't a language that you can learn through reciting lines or memorising words. It's the language of Angels, of Grace, and to learn…no…not learn Enochian, <em>remember <em>Enochian, you have to believe in yourself."

"Remember?" Harry scoffed. "To remember something, first you have to learn something, and I don't remember learning Enochian. Latin, yes, English, yes, but _Enochian _– that never happened."

"No…you, as Harry, never learnt it. But as Jophiel, as Galgaliel…you could sing it to the heavens."

So Harry sighed, buckled down, and tried to focus: to remember some esoteric language that he has never heard before, but is supposed to learn.

He ignored the niggling voice in the back of his head that wondered whether or not Chuck was seeing Harry, or whether he was seeing his baby angels.

Something told him that he wouldn't like the answer to that particular question.

* * *

><p>"What are we doing?" Harry deadpanned, escorted by a giggling Pestilence into a science lecture. "Or would a better question be <em>why <em>are we doing this? You seem to forget the part where I haven't studied Science in _7 years."_

"Bah," Pestilence waved off any and all concerns, all but skipping into the lecture hall. "I need you up-to-snuff with the hippest thing going on in the realm of bacteria. Like, there is some _cute _little viruses currently being cooked up in Europe – you'll simply _adore _them when you see them."

Harry sighed – something he's been doing a lot lately – before allowing himself to be lead into the Biology room. Where soon he was abandoned, the old man sneezing on a poor student before scurrying off, cackling all the while.

Looking around, he spotted a seat next to a young, blonde girl, making his way over there to sit by her.

"Hi," she said, revealing pearly whites as she smiled kindly, "who are you? I've not seen you around before."

"Oh, I'm Harry. I'm new here," he smiled back. "Pleasure to meet you."

"British?" Harry nodded. "Well, I'm Moore, Jessica Moore."

Harry realized that the blonde was probably making a joke, but the reference flew right over his head.

"Oh," the newly revealed Jessica suddenly looked alert, "here's the guest speaker now."

Following Jessica's gaze, the vanquisher of Voldemort all but gaped, as Pestilence _twirled _his way towards the podium, manic grin on his face as he did so.

Harry conjured himself a quill and some sheets of parchment, ignorant of the strange look Jessica was giving him.

"Really, parchment?" Jessica whispered, only half-paying attention to the words spoken by Pestilence. "And is that a quill?"

Harry just shrugged sheepishly.

* * *

><p>"Gardening." Harry echoed, concerned for Famine's well-being.<p>

The personification of hunger raised an eyebrow. "Gardening."

"You're starting to sound like a broken record." Harry raised his head from the flowers he was pruning, dead petals tumbling to the ground around him. "But still. Gardening."

"How else are you going to solve world hunger?" Famine questioned. "Gardening."

"But gardening." A particularly unfortunate weed was yanked out with much more force than was necessary.

"You think you could just _Magic _up food for the world? Pull a Subway out of a hat? Maybe pull a Big Mac out your sleeve?" Harry's response was to throw a weed at him. "Well you can't – Death made sure that it was impossible."

"You're strangely talkative." Harry's features twisted into a grimace, as he pulled off a particularly happy slug from the plant he was tending to. "For someone who looks like they are on Death's door."

"Every minute you moan, the hungrier and hungrier the world becomes." Famine explained tauntingly, and as mean and cruel as it was Harry hoped he fell out of his chair. "So shut up, buck up and paint your thumb green, because you have work to do."

Harry may have grumbled out threats, but they were empty and meaningless, and he continued gardening.

* * *

><p>"What is death?" Death asked, methodically devouring the slice of pizza in his hand.<p>

Harry, eating his own pizza, stared blankly. They were sat in that quaint little Chicago diner that Death pointed out so long ago, _talking. _Lessons with Death were so different from his training with the other Horsemen; all they did was talk. There was no sword waving, no _bizarre _'remembering' thing that Chuck was trying to shove down his throat, and there was definitely no creepy smiles that he had to awkwardly sit through.

"Am I talking to a brick wall?"

Harry only answered with a bite of his pizza, the grease from the delicious treat trickling down his fingers.

"I can't answer all your questions, even if that is what you want."

"If you want an answer, I'll give you one." The half-eaten slice was pointed at Death like a weapon. "Look in the mirror, chances are you'll get your answer."

"Cute." Death drawled. "This is why I hate dealing with teenagers. You're all spots and angst and ego-centrism. It _burns_."

Harry just spitefully took another bite of his pizza.

"I don't know." It was said grumpily. "What's _Death_? What's _Life_? What's _Love_? What's _Hate_? They're not exactly things you understand, they just exist."

"So you do know." The Pale Horseman leaned forward, elbows resting on the chequered table. "That's the first thing I'll teach you. That you cannot know death."

Harry's grip on the pizza became like a vice, threatening to turn the slice into mush.

"Then what was the point of asking that question?"

"There wasn't one."

"I hate you."

"I loathe you too."

Harry hoped he choked on his pizza. Death deserved it.

* * *

><p>"Chuck." Harry whined, bored out of his mind. "What you <em>doin'<em>?"

Chuck ignored him. The deity was sat at his desk, furiously scribbling on ratty old scrap paper, the cheap biro carving black lines onto the ivory surface. He had been doing it a lot lately, dropping everything and scrabbling for paper, and it was making Harry curious. For some weird reason, Chuck wouldn't let him see what he was writing.

Harry wondered if it would be a grievous misuse of his status if he called Death over to forcefully acquire the paper for him.

"Go learn Enochian." The pen never stopped moving, Chuck's focus remaining on the paper. "I'm busy. Doing God stuff."

"God stuff?" Harry echoed, unamused. "Why can't you just tell me what it is? You're worse than Dumbledore."

Chuck leveled him with a stare that would shut up War. Harry stared back, unafraid.

"Harry." Chuck finally stopped writing, the pen rolling listlessly on the table as he dropped it. "Go and do something productive. Away from me."

"…Humour me."

The scratching of pen over paper was his only response, Chuck resuming where he left off.

Harry twitched.

"That's it." Harry exploded into action, catching Chuck off guard as he snatched the transcript away. "Let's see here…"

Harry blinked in confusion, lifting the paper just out of reach for the short man. He opened his mouth, unsure of whether or not he was reading things correctly. Quickly double checking, eyes trailing over Chuck's chicken scratch, ignoring the man's incensed shouts as he did so.

"Hey, what's all the noise?" War hissed, walking through the front door. "I come back to pick up Harry for our next lesson, and I come back to screaming."

Harry silently levitated the manuscript towards her, just out of reach from the madly hopping man. The red-headed woman tossed a caustic glare at Chuck, not amused in the _slightest_, before snatching the piece of paper out of the air. She gave a quick glance over it in boredom, following the words on the paper.

She came to a stop about halfway through, becoming more and more engrossed in the tale the further she read, a light blush blooming into existence the more she did so.

"Wow." War whistled appreciatively. "I don't know who this 'Dean Winchester' is, but the things he's doing with his tongue…I _knew _you were some sort of sex fiend!"

"Have you got to the part where…" Harry lost his voice halfway through, the words turning to unintelligible gibberish.

"I particularly liked the part where Dean reached over and…" War would have continued, but Chuck's hand lashed out, covering up her mouth and muffling the words.

"No!" Chuck cried. "We aren't quoting lines about Dean Winchester's sexual exploits. Stop."

War licked the offensive appendage, and once her mouth was free ordered Harry to hand over Chuck's pen.

"Chuck, babes, I'm your new Beta Reader." Once the pen was in her hands, she turned her attention to the innocent sheet of paper. "Well, _porn _Beta. If you want romance just stalk Famine…actually don't, his idea of romance of two people is _devouring_ each-other with their eyes."

The author wailed, watching his precious Winchester Gospels get forcefully _improved, _unable (or unwilling) to use his godly abilities to save his script.

"And there you have it." She passed the sheet back over. "You can thank me later. Now, Harry, let's _go – _I want to get you started on _zweihanders_…though I'm uncertain if you can even _lift_ them. Oh well, we're off."

She flared out her wings, the red invading his vision, and the pair of them were gone.

* * *

><p>And that was what his life has become.<p>

He has no free time, pouring hours upon hours of _hours_ into bettering himself, trying to be what the Horsemen, what _God _wanted him to be; what_ he_ wanted to be. It was hard, it was grueling, it was _painful, _but Harry enjoyed it. Call him a masochist, a glutton for punishment, _whatever. _But he doesn't regret it. Not at all.

He couldn't imagine what life would be like if he had stayed in the Wizarding World.

Would he have become an Auror, fighting the good fight like everyone wanted him to? Would he have shacked up with someone, gotten married, had kids? Would he have been as happy as he was now?

He would have probably been married to Ginny.

Harry pulled a face at that, cringing at the thought. They may have had something, but in the end he only ever really saw her as a little sister – Ron's little sister that he felt obligated to care for – and they wouldn't have really worked together anyway.

Her brothers would have torn him apart anyway. After they were done with him, there wouldn't have been a corpse left to find.

Harry sat down on an old bench, the wood creaking ominously as he sat down on it. He was being given a break, for the first time in a while, and he'd take advantage of the peace offered by the park, let the bird-song and the laughs of children and the rustling autumn leaves take his mind away from it all.

It was nice.

* * *

><p>One day, he'd be asked where it all truly began, and Harry would smile that smile that said everything and nothing, and laugh the confusion off.<p>

It wasn't the day he was born, surrounded by his loving family, nor was it the day he survived the curse that kills. It wasn't the day that he first discovered magic with wide eyes, or his first day at Hogwarts. It wasn't when he finally ended the prophecy, taking down Voldemort and finally laying it all to rest.

Later, Harry would say it all started when a little girl, no more than four, with eyes bright and a smile that could break the sun; tripping in front of him. Her knees, unprotected from the concrete of the park trail, were cut – blood trickling around the girl's tiny hands.

"Hey," Harry soothed, crouching down. "Shh, don't cry, it'll be fine."

The little girl continued to cry, her body racked with sobs.

"C'mon, calm down. You're a big girl, aren't you?" The girl sniffed, staring at Harry with soulful eyes. "There we go, now, could you do me a big favour?"

She nodded, face scrunching up determinedly.

"Close your eyes, okay." The little girl followed his orders, closing her eyes, sniffs escaping periodically. Harry gave a cursory glance around, and seeing no-one paying attention to them, let his Grace flood his hands, covering his hands in golden light. "Your eyes closed?"

"Yea."

His hand covered the wound, still cradled by the girl's own, and let his Grace do its job. It tumbled out, motes of light escaping, as it knit together the broken skin, forcing out stones and clearing away the blood.

"You can open them up now."

Hazel eyes opened up, blinking away tears as the pain just faded away. Harry, seeing his job was complete, stood up, making to walk away.

"Mister," curious, the wizard stood still, waiting for the girl to continue, "thank you. Mommy says not to talk to strangers but…thank you."

"Don't mention it." He frowned, a thought occurring to him. "Please don't mention it."

"Okay," she chirped, "mister, your wings are pretty. Bye."

"Bye…" the wide smile on his face faltered, as her words registered. "Wait, you can see my wings?"

She just laughed, eyes twinkling as she skipped away, back to her mother.

It was strange. He had thought that his first true act would be something…something _more. _That his first true act of being, well, an extremely powerful supernatural entity would reflect that. Like maybe he would manage to find out a way to solve world hunger, or maybe he would manage to cure Cancer, or maybe he'd put an end to a civil war. That his first act was something so…menial, was surprising.

But good.

Harry carried on walking, whistling a merry tune (completely ignoring the strange looks he was being given).

Life…Life was good.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3, Fin~<strong>

**Hi...yeah. Not my best chapter. But hey times have been rough and at least it's been Beta'd - And yeah I have a Beta - two now :D - so you better go bask in their awesomeness (Yoko-no-Dara and AmeliaPond1997 are now my Baes) XD**

**Also, once more, if you have any questions don't be afraid to ask, in PM or Review. Pairings are a thing I'm still trying to work on, but I should be decided when everyone is in and we can all see how they write themselves.**

**And if I didn't respond to your review last chapter...tell me. I'll respond to it as soon as you let me now, because I've lost track of it all.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope to see you for the next one :D.**

**Signed, HalcyonNight**


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